This is a lot like the work he used to be used to. Working with blue team had been a breath of fresh air in some ways even if it had been fairly non-combative. Dealing with bystanders and kids, recruiting townspeople to help, that had been an odd relief compared to what he was used to back home. He could trust 90% of the people working alongside him, not worrying about the inevitable stab in the back.
This, though? Much more up his alley. What he trained for, and dare he say it gave him more of a tangible sense of accomplishment at the end when he could hold an item in his hands. But these kinds of missions never came easy, especially when its after something important enough to predict the future, and the previous caretakers/developers/whoever the hell these folks were went through all this trouble to keep their items safe.
He peels an aging corpse away from a console, letting it slump with a thud to the floor as he pushes its chair away and starts to scroll through a holographic map. Half the doors marked 'BREACH' in flashing red, the rest of the walls and doors glowing in a dim, pleasant blue. He clicks each room, reading the contents of what it once held. Each with its own set of dangers, and some with their own special rules of how to avoid them.
This one here? Wear a gas mask around it because it exudes a gas that makes you forget. This one here? It can't touch you or you would be turned to stone. That one there- if you're not looking at it, it can attack you, possess your body, and leave you a corpse when it finds someone else to attack while still wearing you as a suit. Killing the body will just turn it loose to jump to a new host freely. It's just then that he hears very fast sprinting down the hall.
Yondu reels in place to face the door, just in time to see a person standing there. He can even see the labcoat they're wearing drift to a rest after that tireless, freakish run. And it's looking at him. The thing seems to be still alive though whatever person lived in that skinsuit is gone now. It's just a vehicle for whatever is inside. And Yondu, keeping his eyes on it, slowwwly tries to make his way around it and out the door. As long as he's watching it? It's not moving.
Okay, what was this about this being more up his alley again?
DOMESTIC - PICKING UP LUNCH
Yondu doesn't know any of the ancient and well deserved hate between Bajorans and Cardassians. What he does know is a giant lizard man gets thrown down across a street and into an overhang by a very angry, dark haired woman that appears otherwise Terran save for the bridge of her nose (which is a pattern in much of his universe too).
Security comes quick, unsurprisingly, and while he has the urge to rubberneck he also doesn't give the slightest of fucks why two people are fighting. It happens, right? Who is he to brandish some kind of moral justification. Punch a bitch in the face if it suits you! Maybe they deserved it. Maybe they're from a universe where shit didn't happen. Then someone can deal with the consequences.
He's about to move on with his day when a woman that looks like she has at least twenty years on him struggles to pick up some neon gourds as he's walking past. He would have kept going to a kabob place, thinking of the last meal that Zenos shared with him in the back of his mind. And, honestly, it's the weight of those more recent experiences that makes him stop and help start picking up the fruit.
Never mind a few of them are embarrassingly phallic. So someone might roll up on him holding a neon dick gourd and scowling at it disapprovingly.
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This, though? Much more up his alley. What he trained for, and dare he say it gave him more of a tangible sense of accomplishment at the end when he could hold an item in his hands. But these kinds of missions never came easy, especially when its after something important enough to predict the future, and the previous caretakers/developers/whoever the hell these folks were went through all this trouble to keep their items safe.
He peels an aging corpse away from a console, letting it slump with a thud to the floor as he pushes its chair away and starts to scroll through a holographic map. Half the doors marked 'BREACH' in flashing red, the rest of the walls and doors glowing in a dim, pleasant blue. He clicks each room, reading the contents of what it once held. Each with its own set of dangers, and some with their own special rules of how to avoid them.
This one here? Wear a gas mask around it because it exudes a gas that makes you forget. This one here? It can't touch you or you would be turned to stone. That one there- if you're not looking at it, it can attack you, possess your body, and leave you a corpse when it finds someone else to attack while still wearing you as a suit. Killing the body will just turn it loose to jump to a new host freely. It's just then that he hears very fast sprinting down the hall.
Yondu reels in place to face the door, just in time to see a person standing there. He can even see the labcoat they're wearing drift to a rest after that tireless, freakish run. And it's looking at him. The thing seems to be still alive though whatever person lived in that skinsuit is gone now. It's just a vehicle for whatever is inside. And Yondu, keeping his eyes on it, slowwwly tries to make his way around it and out the door. As long as he's watching it? It's not moving.
Okay, what was this about this being more up his alley again?
Security comes quick, unsurprisingly, and while he has the urge to rubberneck he also doesn't give the slightest of fucks why two people are fighting. It happens, right? Who is he to brandish some kind of moral justification. Punch a bitch in the face if it suits you! Maybe they deserved it. Maybe they're from a universe where shit didn't happen. Then someone can deal with the consequences.
He's about to move on with his day when a woman that looks like she has at least twenty years on him struggles to pick up some neon gourds as he's walking past. He would have kept going to a kabob place, thinking of the last meal that Zenos shared with him in the back of his mind. And, honestly, it's the weight of those more recent experiences that makes him stop and help start picking up the fruit.
Never mind a few of them are embarrassingly phallic. So someone might roll up on him holding a neon dick gourd and scowling at it disapprovingly.